


Johnlock: Return

by AlexisNicoleWritesFanfics



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, I'm Sorry, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, This might get feelsy, maybe I'll work in smutt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-28
Updated: 2014-03-01
Packaged: 2018-01-14 03:05:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1250389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexisNicoleWritesFanfics/pseuds/AlexisNicoleWritesFanfics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock is back from the dead! Surprise!!! John has moved out, but does that mean he's moved on? We'll see!.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Dream

I stared at a picture of him in his deerstalker, as I did every night, still praying for my miracle. My memories flash back three years, when I stood at his black headstone. "Please don't be...dead." Those words have forever been seared into the back of my mind and they have become my deepest, most heartfelt wish. "I just want my best friend back," I thought as I remembered Sherlock in his sheet in Buckingham Palace, remembered him in the cab with the ash try. Every day was agony- is agony- without him.

Three years of being without the only one I truly loved, and I looked at a lifetime more. It must be my curse, loneliness. I put his picture down and closed my eyes and dreamed of that magnificent man.

I was standing at his grave site, and on his tombstone lay a single red rose. I kneeled on the ground and whispered, "Come back" to my dead companion. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted a flutter of black cloth. Much to my surprise, and anger, Sherlock was kneeling at a grave next to his.

I noticed tears rolling down his face. Sherlock never cried, not for anyone or anything.

"What's the matter, mate?" I asked as I read the gravestone. Shock washed over me as I gasped with disbelief. No, it couldn't be. It wasn't possible. It read:

Here Lies John H. Watson

The Best Friend

A Man Could Ever Have

"I did this to you, John. I did this. I should have returned sooner. I should have told you. You need to know, I've always loved you. I should have been there for you. I didn't know you would be so affected by my death. I never meant for any of this to happen. Come back to me, John." Tears ran down his face and splattered onto the cold, hard earth.

"Sherlock, I'm not dead. I'm right here. I'm right beside you! Sherlock!" Couldn't he hear me? Why won't he notice me, he who sees everything, observes everything. "Sherlock!" I tried to push him, knock him over with the full force of my body, but he disappeared. He dissipated into black smoke, whisked away by the wind.

"I'm alive, Sherlock, I'm alive," I whispered hopelessly to the spot where my best friend had been a moment before.

"I'm alive," I stated as I shot up in my bed. The clock on my nightstand read 2:32 AM. "Too early to be awake," I thought. Movement in the shadows caught my eye. A figure standing in the doorway was illuminated by the soft glow of moonlight.

"As am I, John." Sherlock had returned.


	2. Anger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, really sorry for my shitty chapter titles. I don't know how to title things. It's an issue.

"Sherlock! I must still be dreaming, because there is no possible way you could be alive. I felt your pulse, I saw your body. You were bleeding massive amounts of blood out of your skull!" Anger as well as disbelief boiled inside of me and hot tears spilt from my eyes. This couldn't be happening. Sherlock was undeniably, irreversibly dead. Yet here he was, standing in front of me. He's skinnier, if anything has changed about him at all.

"John, it's really me. Honestly, use your eyes. The flat looks empty and hardly used. You still own the place, but you have lodgings else where. In order to afford both, you must have come into some money recently which means you finally accepted help from your sister. You've lost weight; your appetite has been restricted by grief. You're sleeping over at Baker Street, but why? You only stay over on the anniversary of my death, so why today? What's so important about today?"

"It's the anniversary of the day we met. And how do you know about me staying over on the anniversary of your death?" This must be a dream. I need to wake up. "Also, I have someone coming to look at the flat at 2:30. I thought I'd pack up what's left and move it to storage before they came."

"No need. I'll be moving back in."

"Sherlock, I have a client coming. You'll have to find lodgings elsewhere, or make a negotiation with whoever moves in. I'm selling the flat."

"And I'm buying. I'm your client. I arrived at 2:30 to look at the flat and I'm buying my share back. Of course, you'll need to move back in so I can afford the rent."

"Sherlock, I'm not moving back in. The rent is low enough for you to pay for it by yourself because of all the damages you've caused to the place. This has to be a dream. Wake up, John, wake up," I commanded myself, disbelief over a healthy, living Sherlock coursing through my veins.

"It's not a dream, John. Stop saying that it is!"

"It bloody well better be a dream or I'm going to strangle you! How could you fake your death and not tell me about it?" My voice rose as I seethed with anger. "After you left, I fell apart. I struggled for a reason to live. You're a selfish bastard for committing suicide and a real piece of shit for fucking walking in here at 2:30 in the fucking morning, alive and well, expecting everything to be the way they were before you fucked things up! I had to put you, my best friend, six feet underground, watch as everyone lost hope in you, called you a liar and a fraud. I was so done being lonely and receiving everyone's sympathy. And now here you are! Expecting me to be alright and everything to be A-Okay! Well it's not! It's not okay! I loved you and you left me. I died the same day you did."

"My dear Watson, I didn't know you'd be so affected by my death." He sounded so forlorn and lonely himself. I almost felt bad about screaming at him. Almost. "I had to leave, and I couldn't tell you. Moriarty had guns on you, Lestrade, and Mrs. Hudson. I jumped to protect you, because I love you. And isn't that what friends do, protect each other? I needed to wait until it was safe for us to reunite." Blood rushed to our cheeks, causing us to blush.

"Sherlock, just promise me one thing. Next time you jump, let me jump with you." With that I walked over to him and kissed him. He was my missing piece and he had returned, and while I had changed and anger continued its way through my veins, I couldn't help myself.

"There won't be a next time. I'm back for good."


End file.
